Immortal
by panther7x
Summary: An anachronism-in a way. The curse is never lifted. Rated for general darkness.
1. for what we really are

**For who, to dumb Forgetfullness a prey,**

**This pleasing anxious being e'er resigned**

**Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day**

**Nor cast one longing ling'ring look behind?**

**Immortal**

**Chapter One**

**For What We Really Are**

"…And the musicians were exquisite, except for the fellow on the trombone. He belted notes out on that poor instruments so loudly I daresay I feared for my ears. Other than that, I found the party pleasant. What's your opinion, my dear?"

            Dr. Kravitz paused in his evaluation to address the woman on his arm. She was absolutely stunning. Defiant profile, dark eyes and smooth skin. Her ash-blonde hair was swept back into an elegant bun, with wavy ringlets framing her intelligent face. The scarf draped over her shoulders complimented her classy red dress. Most importantly, she was at least fifteen years Dr. Kravitz's junior. 

            "Oh, the party was lovely," she said. 

            The woman had a darling British accent. Dr. Kravitz did love British accents. They came to the elevator hall of the St. Regis. 

            "I'm curious, Maria," he conversed, "how you, a student of psychology, became so interested in marine biology." 

            The woman shrugged. 

            "Occasionally I try something new. I've invested so much effort into psychology, thus I'd like to remember that it's not the only science in the world."

            The elevator doors opened. Dr. Kravitz ushered her in. 

            "Very true," he pontificated. The elevator doors closed. Dr. Kravitz hit a pearl button for level fourteen. There was a silence.

            "I, also, must remember that my work is not the only thing in the world to occupy me. Oh, no, _far _from it." 

            Then, he looked at the woman rather too fondly. She favored him with a pleasant smile. However, as soon as he wasn't looking, her face dissolved into disgust. The elevator doors chimed and opened. 

            "So, tell me about your work," she asked. 

            Dr. Kravitz readily complied. 

            "Oh, I analyze various microscopic marine wildlife from all over the ocean. I seek to discover their purpose in their respective ecosystems. Most of my time is spent in a laboratory but however I am…"

            He escorted her down the hall. It was wonderful; a beautiful woman who took an interest in his work. Perhaps, she would take an interest in more than his work? 

            "…also, I sometimes go down in a deep sea sub to the bottom floor of the deepest oceans. There the water pressure is so great it would crush any humans."

            "You travel on those subs? It must be wonderful," she commented. 

            Dr. Kravitz smiled. 

            "Oh, yes. It is positively glorious."

            "Do you think," she began, turning her head and looking into his face, "do you think I could go on one of those submarines?"

            Dr. Kravitz gazed down on her. Such enthusiasm was touching. 

            "Well, it is unorthodox but perhaps I could arrange something." 

            A delicate smile played upon her lips. 

            "Oh, well, here's my room. Let me thank you for escorting me, doctor."

            Dr. Kravitz's favored her with a smile, "Please, you can call me Michael, Maria. Oh, how about you give me your phone number, so I can get back to you on the submarine outing."

            "Right," she said, digging through her purse for her room key, "I don't have a pen right now, just wait for me to retrieve one…"

            She pulled out her key and opened the door. Dr. Kravitz followed her into the darkened room and flipped on a light. 

            The room was tidy, beds were made, and curtains drawn shut. Dr. Kravitz watched her write a phone number down on a slip of paper. 

            "There," she said as she handed it to him, "it is nice to have met you."

            "Nice to have met you too, Maria." 

            Dr. Kravitz responded, with clear tone. She waited for him to go, but he just stood and gazed at her. 

            "Well?" she finally said. 

            "Aren't you going to kiss me good-bye?" Dr. Kravitz smiled wolfishly. She narrowed her eyes. 

            "I only just met you, _Doctor,_" the woman stated firmly.  

            Dr. Kravitz grew irritated. Who did she think she was, practically flirting with him then brushing him off like that?

            "Oh, why are we so cold, Maria? Here, let me dim the lights a little…" and he did. 

            "Doctor, what do you think you are doing? I told you to get out," she uttered with authority. Dr. Kravitz approached the shade that was the woman. She stepped back from him. 

            "You are a beautiful woman, Maria," he reached out to touch her shiny hair. She was now up against the window curtains. 

            "Stop it! Get control of yourself," she ordered, anger creeping into her voice. Kravitz sighed.

            "I am in control. Why do you back away?"

            He was now very close to her. 

            "You are behaving monstrously. I demand that you stop."

            "Don't be afraid, Maria. I shall not harm you," he lashed out to grab her. The woman ducked under his arms and twisted from his embrace. Dr. Kravitz only grabbed curtains. In a rage, he flung them aside. Moonlight spilled into the room. 

            "Maria!" he whirled.

            Then his blood ran cold in his veins. 

            Standing in the moonlight, between him and the door, was a skeleton. 

            No just a skeleton…it was _her. _The beautiful hair was replaced with stringy threads like cobwebs or oiled twine. Tattered red velvet clung to the frame like dried blood. The smell of decaying flesh overwhelmed the doctor.

            But the skeleton was _alive._ The chest heaved, the bones trembled. It moved like the woman. And the bright, dark eyes rolled around in the sockets. 

            Kravitz had to get away from her. He fumbled with the glass window to reach the balcony. He got on the balcony. But there was nowhere to go. The ghastly skeleton was still less than ten feet away. And it was_ talking_.   

            "Don't be afraid. I won't hurt you. My name is Elizabeth Swann. I promise I'll not hurt you. Just be calm, sir."

            The hideous tongue wagged in the skull. Everything inside the doctor violently shook. He was seized with repulsion and fear like he had never known. Dr. Kravitz was going to vomit, he was going to faint, he was going to _die. _

            "Doctor!" said the skeleton with the voice of a woman. 

            Was it stepping towards him? Was it coming closer?!

            Dr. Kravitz finally screamed; it was more of a superhuman howl. He took a violent step backwards. But the railing was in the way. With a flip the Dr. Kravitz flew over the railing and plummeted fourteen stories to the pavement.

            Elizabeth watched in horror as the doctor tipped and flipped and fell. His scream followed him, and then stopped. She _had _tried to get into the shadows, tried to stop his panic, but it was too late. She lunged at the curtains and pulled them shut. Shouts rose from the street below. Someone screamed bloody murder. Before anything else happened, Elizabeth had to escape. 

            She grabbed a long, dark coat from the closet. If the police arrived and started asking questions… She pulled open the door and took a determined step in the hallway-only to come face to face with the cleaning lady. 

            "What was that scream?" asked the concerned maid in a foreign accent, "Is everything all right?"  

            "No- _yes. _Yes. I heard the scream but I have no idea where it came from. Excuse me," she brushed passed the maid and her cleaning carriage. The cleaning-lady, however, caught the frightened gleam in Elizabeth's eye. She skeptically entered the room. 

            Elizabeth tried to maintain a dignified walk. The cleaning lady let out a cry. Elizabeth forgot the dignified walk and ran to the elevator. 

            _I doubt that woman will keep silent about this, _she thought. 

            By the time Elizabeth arrived in the lobby, flashing fire trucks and wining ambulances chocked the street before the St. Regis. A gaggle had gathered around a portion of the pavement. Elizabeth's blood might've run cold, or her stomach might've churned with nausea at the thought of the body splattered on the street. Yet only dread could fill her. 

            Elizabeth put on elegant elbow-length gloves, and pulled her hood far over her head. They, hopefully, would eclipse the moonlight. She joined the flow of people heading out the revolving doors. A horrible sense of curiosity wanted to look at the scene but Elizabeth fought it down. She studied the ground and fled down the boulevard. Somewhere there should be an alley. A dark, quiet place where she could collect her thoughts and…belatedly, Elizabeth remembered her cell phone. She whipped it out. The buttons were pressed slyly in the shyness of her dark cloak. 

            It rang softly. 

            "Come on, Will, pick _up_," it just kept ringing. Only the operator answered.

            "I'm sorry, but the person you are trying to call is not responding…"

            Elizabeth hung up and shoved it back into its pocket. That wasn't doing any good whatsoever. Picking up her pace, Elizabeth hid deeper into her hood, hoping she could just get to safety without…

            A strong hand grasped her arm. Elizabeth gasped and pulled away. 

            "Wait! Elizabeth, it's me," the voice pulled her into the shadowed alley. 

            "Oh, Will!" Elizabeth sighed, shaken but fighting through it, "I tried to call you, but you didn't respond. Is your phone on?" 

            Will was silent for a heartbeat

            "Oh. I'm truly sorry, Elizabeth. I swear it won't ever happen again."

            "It's all right. Just let's go home, now. Something awful has happened." 

            Will placed a comforting arm on Elizabeth's shoulders. How badly she wanted to feel it! 

            "I take it the plan to find a sub didn't work out so well," he said gently. 

            "No, it did not," she confirmed, thinking back to the doctor's face before he fell. It had been consumed with loathing and disgust and terror, all directed at her. Thankfully, Will sensed she really did not wish to speak of it. 

            "Come on," he said, leading her farther back into the alley, "the car should be behind this fence. At least, it should be if Jack understood my direct-"

            Elizabeth blinked, "Jack? Jack Sparrow?"

            She saw the shadow of Will's head twitch, "Ah, yes, that's another thing I forgot to tell you just now. He turned up about an hour after you went to the party. He said he'd found something or learned something rather important."

            Elizabeth shook her head, "So he finally decides to reappear. Where has he been all these years?"

            Will smiled, and began to climb the fence.

             "I thought it better not to ask." 

            He straddled the fence and pulled Elizabeth up. Her read dress kept getting in the way. The twosome hopped down to the other side, where the alley was even darker. And quite empty. 

            "I could've guessed," Elizabeth began saying when red tail-lights flashed out of nowhere. They sped like the eyes of some beast, and Elizabeth soon saw they belonged to a little blue Toyota. It made a fast, valiant effort to turn around in the alley, knocking over the fence as it did so. It came down in a tremendous crash over the vehicle. After a pause, it drove out from under the debris. The dust settled and the window rolled down.

            Will yelled at the driver, "Some 'professional ability,' you have just destroyed the fence!"

            Jack pocked his head out the window. 

            "My apologies. Next time I'll be sure _not _to attempt avoiding the pair of you. All right, get in." He waved a ringed hand. 

            Will and Elizabeth entered the vehicle, neither entirely confident in the driver.

            "I take it your plan for acquiring a sub didn't go down too well," Jack said, driving out of the alley. Elizabeth noticed he gripped the wheel like he would grip a helm. One-handed, but oddly steady for his semi-drunk carriage. 

            "No, it did not," she said, letting her hair out of the bun, "I talked to Dr. Kravitz, he wasn't adverse to the idea of giving me access to the sub-then, then he fell out a window."

            "Just like that did he?" Jack commented.

            Will looked very concerned, dear soul, "what happened, Elizabeth?" 

            She shook her head.

            "He saw _me._" 

            The weight of the tone defied any further explanation. 

            "So the blighter took a quick trip out a window and made his escape. I doubt anyone will seriously believe him when he says his date suddenly transformed into an undead, skeletal, freakish thing of nightmares. You've not much to worry about, love." Jack concluded.

             The car was now driving past the St. Regis. 

            "You misunderstand me. He fell from a fourteen story window, and the cleaning lady who saw me most likely believes that I pushed him."

            Police cars littered the 'crime scene.' 

            Will was silent for a moment.

            "Elizabeth, we can disappear. I don't care how many security cameras and cleaning ladies saw you. We can just disappear again." 

            Elizabeth fell back against the seat. 

            "I'm tired of disappearing, Will."

            Will didn't say anything, but Elizabeth could see the hurt on his eyes. Maybe she was being too bitter. Poor Will was just trying to help her, in any case. It was time to kill this awkward silence.

            "What is it, Jack, that you need to tell us?" she asked.

            "Do you have satellite or cable?" 

            He responded, completely serious. 

            "This is not a time for jokes," Elizabeth informed him. 

            "Oh, I was being serious," Jack took his eyes off the road to look at Elizabeth much longer than she preferred. 

            "We don't have either of those,' Will finally answered, perplexed.

            "And I take it you don't look at the papers too often…" Jack continued but Elizabeth stopped him.

            "So what did you see in the papers?"

            "Oh, I saw nothing. However, I did read something that certainly wasn't nothing. But that be best saved for when we get to your place, you know." 

            The car traveled down the neon-lit street, leaving the sound of sirens behind.       

             


	2. November, 1743

**For who, to dumb Forgetfullness a prey,**

**This pleasing anxious being e'er resigned**

**Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day**

**Nor cast one longing ling'ring look behind?**

**Immortal**

**Chapter Two: ****November 17, 1743******

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**_November 17, 1743_********_1:52 a.m._******

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_"Ten years you carry that pistol and now you waste yer shot."_

_"He didn't waste it."_

_            Will's hand stung and bled but dark satisfaction eclipsed the pain. Grimly, he released the coins. They clanged upon joining the others in the stone chest. Will smiled  at Barbossa's confused, horrified face. The man had done so much evil, and was now getting what he deserved…… However, the captain's pistol was still pointed at __Elizabeth__. Suddenly, Barbossa's blank stare melted into a malicious sneer and his  pistol swung towards Will. Stupidly, Will watched the pistol crack. Simultaneously, Jack lunged at Barbossa, knocking him to the rocky floor. The shot went wide. Yet, not wide enough. The bullet, meant to pierce Will's heart, pierced an awkward part of his chest. At first the youth didn't realize he had been shot, then warm, bubbling blood flowed from his vessels and searing pain ripped his body. Far away, he heard __Elizabeth__'s cry. She caught him as he fell. _

_"Will…"_

_            Will stared into her eyes, as though they were a last tie to earth. What would happen to __Elizabeth__ if he died? If the Commodore had lost, __Elizabeth__ would be alone with Jack, prisoners to a demented and rancorous horde of pirates. These thoughts passed as sensations through Will's mind. They were over in a heartbeat. _

_"I…can'….leave you," Will protested, chocking. The blood in his mouth trapped the air. _

_Elizabeth held him, her eyes anxious and defiant. She said something but Will couldn't hear it. There must be a way to stop the bleeding…to stop the dying. The idea hit him  with a flood of adrenaline. _

_"Elizabe...,"_

_"Its all right. I've got you," she said as she held him. _

_"Help… me… take a coin."_

_She gaped, horrified. _

_Distantly there was a scuffling sound. Will ignored it. _

_"Won't…won't leave…you," he tried to speak more connectedly, "Help me."_

_            He begged her, afraid. He felt his mind slipping and his world fading at the edges. __Elizabeth__'s white blouse was doused with warm blood. She dragged him up and pulled him to the chest. The golden medallions rose beneath them and glinted like reptilian scales. Elizabeth guided Will's hand. Together, they took a coin. Like someone had flicked a switch, their perceptions changed. Inside them, a light got snuffed out. _

_            From the corner of his eye, Will saw Jack held down by three large pirates. Pirates who had returned from the fight. _

_"What did ye do?" Jack demanded of Will in a tone Will had never heard him use. _

_Barbossa glowered up at them, his face a mixture of bitterness and disgust. _

_Elizabeth clutched at Will. Something was very, very wrong.     _


	3. except by those who already know where i...

**For who, to dumb Forgetfullness a prey,**

**This pleasing anxious being e'er resigned**

**Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day**

**Nor cast one longing ling'ring look behind?**

**Immortal**

**Chapter Three: Buried On an Island That Cannot Be Found**

         Will and Elizabeth, from a culmination of odd-jobs, luck, and many years of saving, had a lot of money. Even so, their Boston apartment was a fairly modest place. It had only one bedroom, but sleep did them little good; food was useless, and normal comforts escaped them. So the furniture served for appearances more than anything else. Besides the empty refrigerator and veiled windows, it was a mundane place.

Will flicked on a light, "We ought to get moving." 

         He flung open a closet door and yanked out a suitcase. Jack poked and peered around the apartment, touched stuff and tapped the television set. There were garage sale-class pictures on the yellow walls; Jack admired them. Then, Will pushed passed him with a bundle of clothes. He stuffed them into a ratty suitcase. Elizabeth offered him some Rainbow sandals and those too were shoved in.  Leaning against a wall, Jack watched them for a little. 

         "You seem to be in a hurry," he commented.

         Elizabeth gave him a look. 

         "At any moment the police may appear. Do you think we should be here, ready and willing to explain why Dr. Kravitz fell out of a window?"

         Jack smiled,

          "Trust me, love, you've got time."

         "And how do you know that?" Will asked, looking up from the suitcase. 

         Jack spread his arms wide as though making an entrance, 

         "I'm _Captain Jack Sparrow, _thus I know.And I really think you ought to hear what I have found."

Will glanced at Elizabeth. Laying the suitcase aside, he gestured towards the table. The three immortals took a seat, and Jack promptly put his feet on the table.  

         "So," Elizabeth began, "what _did _you find?" 

         Jack smiled idiotically. It was odd, Will thought, how little he'd changed since that night so many decades ago. The bandana was gone, the goatee was not braided. But his hair still remained black and messy and dirty gold teeth flashed as he talked. He still lived in that pirate coat; it was just patched so many times over it was not the same coat. Also, there was a spotted white shirt and a much-loved pair of jeans. Jack was, in painful truth, a spectacle. While Will and Elizabeth tried to conform to fashion, Jack conformed to nothing but himself. 

         However, Will mediated little on that.  

         "Is it news of my father?" he asked.

         Jack made some odd gestures, "I've been around and I haven't been noticing much, I hate to admit, but I did notice that add of yours in the paper. Went 'Missing Boot-Strap, Will Pay Large Bill for it,' or something cute like that. But no, I don't have news of William." 

He stood up, and pulled some sort of paper form a dark recess of his coat, "I have something far more interesting."

         Elizabeth eyed the paper, "What is it?"

         It was a touristy scrap of paper, advertising the Boston Museum of Maritime History. Evidently it had been in Jack's pocket for a while. 

         Jack continued without missing a beat, "I got this in the bus station of Massachusetts, after getting kicked off the-"

         "But what…" Elizabeth leaned forward and made to take it.

         "Eh, I'm reading this!" He ordered and pulled it from her reach. 

         After opening the broacher with flourish he read haltingly, " 'In September 1996 a teams of archeologists in the West Indies-' Our Caribbean, you could say," Jack interjected, "now where was I? ' uncovered one of the greatest historical finds of the century. The West Indies are sprayed with minuet, scattered and desert islands, mainly uncharted…' etc, etc, that runs on for a bit, but listen here… 'upon exploring further into the labyrinth of caves and waterways, Dr. Aversman and his team uncovered a horde of wealth; apparently left untouched for several decades. Jewels, coins, crowns, precious stones, spice, materials, Aztec artifacts and even umbrellas were amongst the wealth. The spoils are apparently the work of pirates from the around the mid eighteenth century…' it goes on but that should be enough." 

         Grave and careless at once, Jack tossed the broacher to Elizabeth.

         She stared at it in shock. That photo depicted the pirate cave on Isla de Muerta, all right. There was, atop that mound, the cursed treasure of Cortes. Ransacked by overzealous professors. 

         "And read that part, that's the best of it," Jack pointed out a heading. 

         Will read over Elizabeth's shoulder. 

         "It's on _display_?" Elizabeth gasped in horror, "The cursed chest is part of a traveling _display_? In a _museum_? But that's madness."

         Will shook his head. 

         "Not mad but impossible. I thought Barbossa would guard that island. And I was told that Isla de Muerta could not be found except by those who all ready know where it is."

         Jack's eyes glimmered faintly as he stroked his goatee. Elizabeth clutched at the broacher and thought quickly. 

         "There would be nothing to stop them from taking a medallion. And if they did, we would not know who took it or what they did with it," she reasoned with finality. 

         "Aye. That's the crux of the matter, isn't it?" Jack began walking about for no ready reason, "Think about it. No one can find that island, unless they were guided. Now, that makes you wonder who would be doing the guiding. Now, I know it wasn't me, for a fact," he eyed them.

         "Are you suggesting we showed them the island, Jack?" Will gasped. Jack held out his hands complacently. 

         "Not really, whelp."

         "This is solving nothing!" Elizabeth succumbed to a characteristic outburst, "Any second now sirens could be sounding at the front door, while we're grasping at straws. The chest is at the Boston Museum of Maritime History, we know that at least. Let's work from there." 

         "That is an excellent idea I'll be seeing you all later!" Jack blurted and snatched his keys.

         "And how can we reach you?" 

         Elizabeth called after him, but the door slammed and Jack was gone. 

         "Brilliant,' she finished and eyed Will. 

         He furrowed his brow and sighed.

          "We might as well finish packing."


	4. and so we cannot die

**For who, to dumb Forgetfullness a prey,**

**This pleasing anxious being e'er resigned**

**Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day**

**Nor cast one longing ling'ring look behind?**

**Immortal **

**Chapter 4: And So We Cannot Die**

_            **Previously in **_**Immortal**: _As a result of a fiasco in the cavern of Isla de Muerta, Will, Elizabeth and Jack became cursed. Moreover, Will's blood does not have enough Bill Turner in it to lift the curse. Now, flash-forward a couple centuries. Dr. Kravitz saw __Elizabeth__ as her skeletal self. Such was his terror he fell from a window to his death. Elizabeth is wanted for his murder, thanks to the cleaning lady and security cameras. Simultaneously, Jack reappears with some startling news: a band of professors discovered the treasure of Isla de Muerta and put it on display at a museum. Now, while Will and Elizabeth plan to elude the police, Jack makes a little visit to the __Boston__Museum__ of Maritime History…          _

            That sleepy Monday morning Agatha Macduff tried to appear pleasant for the museum patrons. However, it is difficult to be pleasant for the museum patrons if there are no patrons. So frustrating. After laboring long and hard to get the pirate exhibit into the museum, how was Agatha thanked? She shook her head, chastising herself. After all, it was only a sleepy Monday morning,  

            Agatha walked down the length of the room. The footsteps echoed on the stone floor and bounced off the glass cases. Swords and pistols, gold and silver, cloaks and hats, tucked safe and still behind glass. It was a marvelous collection. Agatha lovingly stopped before each case. One held a display of maps and letters. Some were signed by pirates like Thomas Tew or Henry Avery or the lesser known Jack Sparrow. She sighed. Fascinating pirates, all of them. It would have been amazing to be with Dr. Aversman when he discovered that pirate horde. But, with fifty-five years and graying hair, Agatha decided she was better off working the museum. 

            The curator continued admiring the artifacts. She paused before that Aztec chest. Inside, hundreds of those glinting, grinning coins glistened at her. Despite herself, Agatha hated that chest. She had never admitted it to anyone, but…but something was just, just…_wrong_ with the chest. Agatha glowered back at those medallions. Then, with a snort, she turned away. 

            Agatha strode back to her podium and broke out her breakfast. Half-way through her Egg McMuffin, she realized there was a patron. God knows how he seemingly materialized in the room, but a patron was a patron. Agatha dabbed her mouth with a napkin and evaluated him. Odd person. She could have named him a 'bum.' Yet, that vintage coat did not belong on an ordinary bum. Well, as she always said, a patron was a patron. She watched him a few more heartbeats. Oh dear Lord. This man was drunk. The way he staggered about, nearly falling but catching himself…he was drunk. Annoyed, she approached him. 

"May I help you, sir?" she demanded. The drunk swayed away from the artifacts to her. 

"I didn't know I needed help," he responded coherently enough. He didn't appear that drunk. Agatha decided to make the best of the situation. 

"What I mean is do you have any questions?" she continued.

"I do have one, actually. Who are you?" he demanded. 

Agatha bit back a scalding replay, "I am Agatha Macduff, I _own_ and operate this exhibit, so if you have any questions about any of the things you see here you can ask me." 

"That's really wonderful I'm so glad you can do that, but really, I'm sure I can find me own way 'round this bloody little horde." 

He stared down and flashed a feral smile. She glimpsed a few shiny gold teeth. There was something decidedly uncouth and fierce in his stance. Was this man _threatening _her? 

"Very good," she refused to be intimidated, "I hope you enjoy it." 

Agatha whirled away from the stranger, thinking hard. She snatched back up the Egg McMuffin and glowered between bites. The stranger simply poked around as though he owned the place. Sighing bitterly, Agatha decided that he needed his head examined. 

Hours later, he was still there. Other people had poked in and left, but had he left? No. 

" 'Ello, Agatha! Your name is Agatha, isn't it? Agatha, come 'ere for a moment will you!" he suddenly ordered. Agatha surprised herself by promptly rushing over. The outlandish stranger stood before the Aztec chest display. He pointed to a photo on a placard. 

"Do you know the name of that man?" he demanded and kept pointing. Agatha looked. That photo depicted a scientist cleaning and cataloging the medallions. It was nothing to get excited about. 

"Why, his name is in the caption," she sighed.

 The stranger looked at her.

"What caption?" he asked innocently. Agatha gave him a look. She pointed to the sentences immediately below the photo. 

"Ah, that caption," The stranger leaned over and peered at it, as though it were a fascinating insect. 

Agatha tuned to leave but he pulled her back. 

"Well, tell me what it says," he commanded. 

Agatha pulled from his grip, "Can you not read it for yourself?" 

"Ah yes, love, to be sure," he smirked, "yet it does take a might bit longer than I'd like. So, how's bought you be a good pirate expert and tell ol' Jack what it says."

Agatha resigned herself to this farce and explained, "That is a photo of Dr. Aversman, the man who discovered all these artifacts. Is that satisfactory, sir?"

 The stranger smiled wolfishly. 

"It is. For the_ moment_, love."         

            Will drove the car down the Massachusetts turnpike south out of Boston. In the seat next to him, Elizabeth leaned against the window, gazing into the cold cloudy sky. In the strengthening wind, the trees swayed like a drunken mob. Rain loomed in the gloomy future. Elizabeth traced a finger along the windowpane. Unfeeling, numb, her finger pulled away. 

"We need to go back to the apartment, in about a week's time," she said with little spirit, "and retrieve the refrigerator and other furniture." 

Will glanced from the road to the woman. His soft brown eyes flooded with concern. She returned the gaze and flashed him a pathetic smile. 

"Do you want to listen to some music, Elizabeth?" he asked, eager to please. 

"That sounds lovely."

She watched Will punch the buttons on the radio. 

An informative, prissy AM voice suddenly sprung up, "…are looking for a white female, early twenties, around five eight in height-"

Elizabeth smacked the radio off and sunk back into her seat. 

She saw Will, from the corner of her eye, look horribly guilty as though the whole scenario was his fault. 

"Well, I didn't expect _that_," he began consolingly. Elizabeth shook her head. 

"I'm all right, Will. I truly am."

Will passed a slow-moving pick-up, steadily speeding up the car then gently slowing it down. 

            "You know that Dr. Kravitz, or whatever his blasted name was, you know that he probably deserved what happened to him. After all, he did try to…try to…he made an horrible advance on you. You have no cause to feel guilty at all."

 He kept giving her quick glances. Elizabeth shook her head again.

"No, no. I mean yes that poor man probably did deserve it but…"

Slow soft drizzle pattered the windshield. Outside, a small bird searched for a place to rest. Elizabeth watched it. 

            "…but it was that look he gave me, right before he fell," Elizabeth whimpered, "such a look of loathing and terror and horror. It's a horrible way to die, to be so afraid. Afraid of that undead skeleton. _Me_."

            Will stopped glancing over at her. He opened his mouth to say something, and then shut it. Windshield wipers slid across wet glass; the only sound in the bitter silence. Elizabeth bit a nail, awash with guilt and anger. Guilt for being so selfish and hurting Will, and anger because she was cursed and undead, and there was little she could do to fix it. 

The wipers squeaked and slid and the car rolled along and along. The silence grew soothingly. 

Thus, Elizabeth jumped nearly four inches when Will's cell phone rang. 

He snatched it up with one hand. 

"Hello?" 

There was a buzz on the other end.

 Elizabeth mouthed, "_Jack_" to which Will gestured to the negative. 

"This is he," Will answered, "may I ask whose calling?"

_            'Whose calling,' indeed_ Elizabeth reasoned. There were only three people she knew of who had Will's cell-phone number: herself, Jack, and Will's boss at Dunkin' Donuts. Since it apparently wasn't Jack or Elizabeth, and Will's manager rarely called, who had gotten a hold of Will's number?

"Yes, I did…no, no one…" 

The voice at the other end talked on.

 Elizabeth narrowed her eyes and Will appeared to grow more and more excited.

"…and your point is?" 

pause

 "WHAT?!" Will shouted and slammed on the breaks. 

            The car skid, throwing them forward into their seatbelts. The car whirled and whipped and fell onto the shoulder. Then, it stopped, perfectly safe, leaving Elizabeth gasping with surprise. She threw a look at Will. Rather agitated and excited, he kept speaking into the receiver. 

            "Oh, no. You just surprised me that was all…um, yes. I know where that is…hold on a moment," he leaned over and fished a pen and paper from the glove-compartment. Elizabeth watched as Will took down a name and address. He exchanged a few more comments with the person at the other end. With her eyebrows raised expectantly, Elizabeth waited for him to finish up. 

"Ok, tomorrow at three would be fine. I will see you then." 

He slowly, softly flipped the phone shut. 

Morosely, he stared into space. 

"May I ask who that was?" she asked. 

Will glanced over at her, his expression mixed with shock and sadness. He hesitated.

"Will, what is it?" she repeated gently. 

            He laid his forehead in a hand, "He called to answer that add I had placed in a paper a year ago- the one that Jack mentioned last night. He said he knew of a man called Bill Turner, and how Bill Turner had once mentioned his old, odd nickname, 'Boot-strap.'"

Elizabeth livened up, "But Will this is fantastic! Who is this man who called, why didn't your father call himself?"

Will looked almost ready to cry, "Oh, Elizabeth. That man, a Mr. Aversman, he…also said that…that Bill Turner passed away five years ago."    

Elizabeth narrowed her eyes thoughtfully, "Your father was-_is_-cursed. He can die no more than I can."

Will slowly brought the car back into the flow of traffic. The rain came down incessantly, pounding the windshield. 

"That's what's confounding me. In any case, we're to meet with this Mr. Aversman tomorrow at three, and maybe then we can clear this up."


	5. November, 1743

**For who, to dumb Forgetfullness a prey,**

**This pleasing anxious being e'er resigned**

**Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day**

**Nor cast one longing ling'ring look behind?**

**Immortal**

**Chapter Five**

**November 17, 1743**

**2:56 am**

_Dead men don't bleed. That failed to stop Barbossa and his crew from squeezing every drop they could from Will's bruised body. They held him over the stone chest for hours, and the red, clumpy blood fell from him like jam. Then, they took Elizabeth and Jack and wrung them. The chest was soon dyed with dry blood, but the crew and their captives looked at one another and looked at themselves. It was useless. The curse did not lift. _

_Then, the crew was in a flying rage. Gripping their swords a bit tighter, they turned on Barbossa. Shrieked and yelled to hide their fear. Fear of immortality; of existing and never fading.   Unconsciously, they surrounded Barbossa, ready to take their fear out on their captain. Barbossa's eyes rolled around as he searched the cave for rescue. He lighted three bond figures: Will, Elizabeth and Jack. _

_"Young Turner's blood failed us, gents! They have tried to trick us, to send us into the hands of our enemy!" the proclaimed Captain._

_The scapegoat was found. _

_"It was Sparrow who learned us of this __Island__! It was he who pulled us down into Hell!" Twigg joined in the chorus. _

_The pirates shouted in union. _

_Barbossa stepped predatorily up to Jack. He placed his hands on Jack's shoulders; it was almost a friendly gesture. His smiled and flashed rotting teeth. The monkey, from his perch on treasure, cried gleefully. Jack pulled a little, just a little, at the tight knot pinning his arms behind his back. Then he relaxed. _

_Barbossa hissed, "When we return to the ship, I'll have the whelp's bones plucked out one by one and tossed into the sea."_

_The pirates seethed with glee. _

_Barbossa continued, "But we would enjoy the young lady's presence. Perhaps she would provide entertainment for us gentlemen." He leered with heavy emphasis on the last word. _

_"But you, my dear Jack," he continued, slapping the pirate on the back, "We all know how much you like that ol' _Pearl_, don't we, me scallywags? So, we won't part ye from it. Not all of ye, anyways. I'll sever ye gullet and keep ye head in a fine glass jar. Then pitch yer carcass overboard. What say ye to that, mates?" _

_He turned to the throng. They cried heartily. Jack the Monkey screamed and jumped up and down on a mound of jewels. _

_"Barbossa, your lack of imagination does, really, scare me," Jack called after Barbossa. _

_He tuned back, "Are ye sure that's what be scaring ye, Jack Sparrow?"_

_Jack shrugged as best as he could for his bonds, "That, and the fact that you- may be- repeating the whole bloody Bootstrap fiasco, that's all mate."_

_The crew looked at each other, a slow light of realization creeping into their dull dirty faces. It was Barbossa who sent Bootstrap to the deeps; it was he who prolonged the curse! _

_"He got rid of ol' Bill, and then we needs him to lift the curse!" squeaked Ragetti._

_ The pirates shouted in assent._

_Barbossa studied their mutinous faces. _

_A muscle in his cheek twitched, "All right, ye cockroaches. We are no dictatorship. What shall be done with these dogs?" _

_"Captain, do not harm them," demanded the Bo 'sun, "their rotting carcasses could still be important to us." The crew murmured and growled. _

_Barbossa whirled to face their spiteful faces growling back at him. He turned again to see Jack, a sly gleam in his eyes and evil smile on his lips. _

_"I suppose that they may stay in one piece. At least, for now," he added, more to Jack and his companions than anyone else. _

_"Look at it this way, Barbossa," Jack returned without missing a beat, "Immortality. Lasting forever and never fading. That has a nice ring to it." _

**_I apologize for the long delay between this chapter and the next one. Oh, anyone care to guess where the rhyme at the opening of the chapter is from and what it means? If you guess right—oh, I don't know what a good prize is. E-mail you a virtual tootsie-roll, or maybe I'll just review a bunch of yer stories. _**


	6. so where do the stories come from I wond...

**For who, to dumb Forgetfullness a prey,**

**This pleasing anxious being e'er resigned**

**Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day**

**Nor cast one longing ling'ring look behind?**

**Immortal**

**Chapter Six: Then Where do the Stories Come From, I Wonder**

            All the best things in life take patience. Revenge, love…opportune moments. Jack had been living his long life by this maxim. Unfortunately, it was impossible to know when this 'opportune moment' would decide to appear. Jack lingered in the museum; like a ghost haunting a previous life. By no means did he remain in that one room _all_ the time; only _most_ of the time. He poked and questioned and behaved very, very suspiciously, but his air was so masterful nobody dared kick him out. At least, that's what Jack assumed. 

            The carved figures on the stone chest scowled at Jack. He glared back at them, and thought hard. _Nothing can be impossible_. He walked around the cursed chest again and measured its distance from the door. _Nothing can be impossible; just difficult._ There would be no use in chasing the exhibit around the country. The best bet would be to snatch the chest before it moved off again. Museum robbing would be a bloody bit harder than Jack's usual fair, although nothing Jack couldn't handle. He assumed.

            Then, in walked a bored-looking trio: a lass and her two lads. 

            "Just take the pictures, so we can get out of here," she ordered them around. The lads responded quickly enough; whipping out their digital cameras. 

_            She's done a might well for herself, _Jack slowly smiled.  

            "Did he want captions with the pictures?" asked one lad. 

            The lass shrugged, "hey, this is your guys' extra-credit deal, not mine."

            "Thanks for your support," the other grimaced and took out pad of yellow post-its. Turning to a cutlass display, he jotted down some notes. Jack slinked over to the group, quickly and quietly. He then towered behind the lad and read over his shoulder. 

            "You got it wrong, son," he hissed into the lad's ear, "A cutlass is the proper name. And it didn't belong to Henry Avery."

            The lad jumped and spat a four letter epithet. 

            "Holy shi—whaddya trying to do! _And_ I'm _not_ your son."

            Jack bared his feral smile. 

            "I'm helping ye with ye homework, lad. Ye got all yer facts confuddled."  

            The lass eyed him fiercely. She was a bloody handsome one, to be sure, with rather dark eyes and hair. Easily could be some grand-child of Anna Maria. The resemblance was uncanny when she was mad. 

            "Do you work here?"

            Jack waved a finger, "Oh, come, love! Ye want to know about pirates, eh? Well, fortunately I know all that there is about pirates. I can answer all your questions -even some you didn't know you wanted to ask."

They looked at each other. Deciding, probably, that this helpful bum watched too many boat movies. However, the frowns of distrust fell away into grins of bemusement. 

             "_Anything_ we ask?"  

            "Yeah."

            "But, we mean, _anything_?"

            "What have I been saying to ye all along?"

            "Okay, then," began the lad who Jack had startled. Probably wishing to wreck revenge. With a sly gleam in his eye, he pointed to the sword.

            "Okay, you said that's not Henry Avery's sword-"

            "-cutlass. Not his cutlass."

            "—whatever. You said it's not Henry Avery's. Then who's is it?"

            Jack had an extremely self satisfied smile on his face. 

            "It belongs to William Turner."

            They blinked. 

            "'Belongs?'" responded the lass, "we're not asking who is 'belongs' to. Who used it way back in whatever century?"

            His infuriating grin would not stop. 

            "Oh, it still belongs to dear William. Only, it's in this museum. This means he can't use it. Shame, really, because it's still his." 

            "But wouldn't this Will be…uh… around two hundred years old or something?" The lad objected. 

            "Aye. You're a bright lad."

            A stunned silence. The three teenagers looked Jack up and down, noticing in his messy ponytail, scruffy goatee, and glittering gold teeth. They didn't say anything for a while. Jack decided to press his advantage.  

            "Course, Will doesn't look his age. Runs in the family. See, I knew that whelp's father and he looked pretty fine for his age as well."

            Pause. The lass narrowed her eyes. 

            "Wait, you knew this two-hundred year old guy's _father_?"

            "Back on the _Pearl__. _We were shipmates, he and I."

            It amused Jack greatly to see the trio eyeing the nearest exit. However, despite their discomfort—maybe even because of it—they stayed. 

            "Are you some sort of pirate?" One of them asked, carefully humoring the bizarre man.

            "Captain Jack Sparrow, if ye please. Don't be forgetting the captain part." 

            Jack gestured drunkenly. He radiated something between a cold-hearted thug and an enthusiastic child. The teenagers were unsure how to respond to this, to laugh or to make a quick escape. Again, they smiled at each other. Escape? This guy was too strange to pass up! 

            "Ok, who ever you are, if you're a pirate then how come you're not dead?" demanded one of the lads.

             Jack had been anticipating this question and pounced on it. 

            "But I am," he protested. 

            Their expressions defied comment. 

            "Only, I'm not dead. Nor could ye call me alive. I'm immortal. Not really my choice, though. It was dear William's fault. Wait, I can't be honest about that as he didn't have that much say in the matter because when someone's shot and bleeding he cannot think for himself. Not really Elizabeth's fault either when ye think 'n it long enough. You could say it was me own fault for finding that bloody island in the first place, which did, in fact, start the whole fiasco."      

            "I'm confused…" began the lass. 

            "I'm not surprised, love," (the lads snickered at this address). 

            "So, how'd you become immortal?" 

            Thus came the innocent question.

            "Why, you want to turn immortal yourself?" Jack teased through a scowl. 

            "Well, no," a lad clarified, irritated, "that came out wrong."

 Ignoring the response, Jack tugged on the lad's shoulder and pulled him towards the stone chest, "Centuries ago, I was named captain of _The Black Pearl _and her crew of scoundrels…"

**I apologize most sincerely for the great delay between chapters. I've had lots of drama going on in life lately. So you had better review this because it was a PAIN to write! Oh, and by the way, anyone care to identify the author, title and meaning of the opening stanza? And, finally, there will be NO random love interest between Jack and the teenager who looks like Anna-Maria. These teenagers have made their cameo appearance and they're otta here. Also, this was originally part of a longer-and I mean LONGER chapter but I decided to cut that up into a few parts. Look for the next chapter within the next two weeks. **


	7. don't do anything stupid

**For who, to dumb Forgetfullness a prey,**

**This pleasing anxious being e'er resigned**

**Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day**

**Nor cast one longing ling'ring look behind?**

**Immortal**

**Chapter Seven: Don't Do Anything Stupid**

The rain fell very, very softly, almost apologetically, against the tinted windows. Its mournful _pitapatting_could have soothed any anxious soul. Any soul, that is, other than Agatha Macduff. 

Less than a half hour ago, she had watched the stranger strike up a conversation with three unsuspecting teenagers. Saying nothing, she had been secretly hoping that this would give her an excuse to "remove" the stranger. Her hopes were dashed. Not only did his stories amuse the trio, but they captivated other hapless patrons who wandered into the exhibit. The stranger held his small crowd absolutely spellbound. 

It was so irksome. Some _bum _walks in off the street and starts giving a tour. In _her _museum. Agatha glowered at the stranger from behind her glasses-then her rational side kicked in. People where staying. They came in and they stayed and they enjoyed themselves. That was the important thing. 

The stranger gestured madly. _What in heaven's name, _she wondered,_ is he telling them, anyways?_

Curiosity numbing her pride, she wandered over to the small throng. Snippets of stories caught her ear.  

"…and then came Rosy Katherine, known by many as the biggest whore on all of Tortuga…"

"…rather gory sight. Captain MacFaltey's catching that cannon ball through his chest…"

"…so, then I came up with a plan to escape from Barbossa. The whelp and his lass nigh ruined it, to be sure, but if it hadn't worked I wouldn't be standing here today…"

Various other sexual and romanticized exploits continued. 

            _So, _Agatha chuckled grimly to herself; _this man is the Captain Jack Sparrow who has been under a curse for nearly three centuries, because that stone chest over there contained medallions cursed by some sort of Aztec deity. And his mutinous crew is still alive, since they are subject to the very same curse 'Captain Jack' is under. Of course, they are still _his_ crew sailing _his_ ship because he had been their captain for about—oh—a week._ _Truly, I believe that _someone_ has been watching too many boat movies. _

Almost against herself, Agatha let the stranger ramble on. There was something hypnotical in his stories. Perhaps, more in their presentation that in any of their content. Anyways, he played the pirate well.  

As six o'clock drew near, the recorded voice over the intercom announced the closing of the museum, prompting a disappointed sigh from the crowd. However, 'Captain Sparrow' assured them that he had had a wonderful time and hoped to speak to them again very soon. 

When the crowd had thinned, Agatha approached the stranger again.     

"Excuse me, sir."

"Why, 'ello Agatha! I didn't know ye stayed her so long."

She ignored that and pressed on.

"That was an interesting show you just put on for us, Mr…I'm sorry, I don't think I caught your name."

"I'm Captain Jack Sparrow."

"I know _that _one," Agatha responded through a thin smile. 

The stranger appeared perplexed, as though he'd forgotten his own name.

"Oh…? Ah, yes, well it's hard to remember it after introducing yourself as Captain Jack Sparrow for a bit. Name's John Jackson-Johnny, if you want."

"Well, Mr. Jackson, the patrons seemed to have enjoyed you're little show."

"Is that a compliment?" he asked with an indefinable expression. 

She pressed on. 

"You have demonstrated an essential business technique: drawing patrons into the exhibit and keeping them in it."

"And I assume ye are having a hard time doing that yourself?"

Agatha narrowed her eyes, "You may drop the pirate accent, Mr. Jackson; there are no patrons present. And no-I am not having a hard time drawing the patrons in. Attendance is excellent, in fact. But when I heard you talk, I decided, why not make a good thing even better? Give this exhibit a unique reputation."

"That's a fine idea-yer point being..."

"_My_ point being," Agatha corrected him with a prim accent, "As owner and operator of this exhibit, I would like you to work for me. Of course, I need to get clearance from the museum itself but that shall not be difficult. You would be paid reasonable wages, besides being entitled to free admission and a ten percent discount at the gift shop. Furthermore, I would need you to operate this exhibit when I cannot be present."

"And how often would that be?"

"When you would operate the exhibit?"

"When I would operate the exibit."

Agatha paused for a moment. Mr. Jackson held a sneaky look in his eyes. 

"Occasionally, but not before you've had time to settle in," she said slowly. _Not at all before I've run an exhaustive background check on you, _she thought.    

Mr. Jackson eyed her as a cat would a mouse. Slowly stroking his moustache, he murmured, "uh-huh. _Uh-huh_." 

Agatha continued, battling to regain authority, "I don't expect an answer now, Mr. Jackson. Call me if you're interested."

Agatha prepared to go fetch her card from the podium, but something detained her. Mr. Jackson pulled a cell phone from a dark recess of his pocket. But what a phone! It was the smallest she had ever seen, vaguely circular but of a dull unfinished color. It had no manufacturer logo. 

She paused but a moment and strode quickly to her podium. _No normal person carries around a cell-phone like that. As soon as the museum closes I am going to place a call to the sheriff station and see, conclusively, if they have any dirt on a certain John Jackson. _

Agatha gave no sign of her inward schemes when she handed her business card to Mr. Jackson. He looked as though like he'd never seen a business card before. 

"Call _this _number; my number," Agatha aided him, "by tomorrow evening." 

Mr. Jackson slowly replaced his strange cell phone, "Oh…how clever, putting your number on a little card like that."

Only the stranger's eyes had any life in them, the rest of him was strangely still. Agatha held out her business card. He started stupidly, as if caught in intense concentration. Very, very suddenly though, he smiled happily and took it.  

The pirate left the building and stepped out into the grim gray parking-lot. Frightened little cars braved the wet rain and scurried homeward, with headlights beaming and windshield-wipers working. Jack was still laughing and gloating inside when he placed a call to Will. 

To his amusement, Elizabeth answered. 

"Elizabeth! Why might ye be playing secretary?"

"We're at a gas station and Will has gone inside to pay," Elizabeth's voice explained, "While you were happily gallivanting around the city, we've been searching for hours and hours for a new apartment. And what's more…"

She paused. 

"…and what's more…" he echoed.

There was evident strain, "I'm not so clear about this. But, call to mind that charming add Will placed in the paper, about 'Lost Boot Strap, Will Pay Large Bill for It.' Do you remember it?"

"Somebody has answered it?"

"Yes."

Jack blinked at the fat raindrops, "so where's ol'William Turner?"

"That's the peculiar part. They told us he is dead."

"No. See, Bill, being the immortal that he is, cannot die."

"I said it was the peculiar part."

"Ever thought that it could just be a different William Turner?" he reasoned.

"This man knew of that nick-name Will's father had gone by, 'boot-strap,'" Elizabeth countered, "there is very little chance someone would share that nick-name, especially in this century." 

There was a pause. The stubborn, yet shy, rain fell like tears.  

"I'm sorry, Jack. It was a shock to Will and me, too." 

 "No time to be sorry," he said offhandedly, "now, what was this fellow's name?"

"Who? The one who called?"

"Obviously…"

"It sounded like an 'Alderson,' but I can't be sure. I didn't catch it," she apologetically added.

"Aversman, by any chance?" 

"Perhaps," she slowly answered. 

"But you actually didn't speak to him?"

"No. Will did."

"Right, right," he acknowledged, "You've been a dear, Elizabeth. Now, lemme talk to the whelp."

"Hang on one moment."

Scuffling sounds. Jack waited impatiently while his messy hair turned into a wet mop. 

"Hello?"

"Ah, lad. So I hear we found ye father."

"If this man can be trusted," Will responded doubtfully. 

"That's always a problem. But, suppose he _is_ telling the truth. Then William really is dead. But, I cannot see, how the _immortal_ can die. Rather tarnishes the curse's charm, of ye ask me. But if he's lying…why he want to lie about it anyways?"

"I know, I know. When we meet with this man Aversman we may get more clues and solve this mystery."   

"You're going to meet with him?" the respond came incredulously, "Just blindly walk into a meeting. Smart lad."

"Jack, I can handle--"

"Its just that you and the lass have a tendency to do stupid things. Don't be over-eager to meet with this fellow. Wait to visit Aversman until I give the word. Come on, now, have I ever steered you wrong?"

"Shall I answer that question, Jack?"

"I just do not want to drag you out of trouble—again--after you've fallen into it. Savvy? Good. Now, where did Aversman say Bill lived last?" 

"He didn't say, but I assume it was around Summerville. What are you planning now; to run off to the graveyard and see for yourself if he's there?" 

"Exactly right," Jack said drawlingly and roughly, "All you need worry about is my call. So, please, just sit tight and don't do anything stupid."

Click and he was gone. 

Will blinked and pulled the cell from his ear. He glowered at it with supreme annoyance. 

Elizabeth smiled at him, "Either he called you whelp or asked that you don't do anything stupid."

Will ran his fingers through his hair, though he couldn't feel the strands. With new energy, he turned to the woman.

"How about we find my father's grave before Jack does?"  

Will turned the key; the car sprang to life and drove off into the dagger-like rain. 

**Dialogue is OVER!!!!!! Boring phase is OVER!!!!!!!! We enter into the PG-13 phase…BTW, my "private editor" dislikes my characterization of Jack. I can't really figure out how to fix him…if you have any suggestions I would be overjoyed to have them.**

**ZC the Scribe is the WINNER!!! The passage is from Gray's 'Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard.' But the meaning has yet to be answered. At least, the meaning according to English teacher. Still, ZC deserves a prize!!! Any suggestions?**


	8. Begun by GreedConsumed by it

**For who, to dumb Forgetfullness a prey,**

**This pleasing anxious being e'er resigned**

**Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day**

**Nor cast one longing ling'ring look behind?**

**Immortal**

**Chapter Eight**

**The Eighteenth Century**

_Barbossa kept his prisoners in the darkest, deepest hold on the _Pearl. _It was a small square-barely more than a crawlspace-tucked away in the back of the ship. Dark waters sloshed into the space. Light and air never came in. The captives, chained about their wrists and feet and necks were weighed down in the dark cold water. Barbossa had finally caught to Jack's wiles, and would risk no chance for any sort of escape. Besides, with the curse upon Sparrow, Swann and Turner, he could bury them away wherever he wished with no fear of them dying on him. _

_And so might have the arrangement continued, if the _Pearl _had not been fired upon, and the cannon ball had not torn through the wall of their prison. The wood splintered; brilliant sunlight and gurgling water jetted though the gaping hole. They made their escape, sinking to the bottom of a shallow reef. Their lead heavy chains took them down to the bottom. Three chained figures were stuck, almost laughably, on the sands of the bottom of a reef. _

_Carnivorous fish eyed them…Jack eyed them back. There was not enough blood in these cursed corpses to inspire a shark's frenzy. Three inane buoys waited at the bottom of the reef. And then the sun set. The moving moon went up the sky and beamed down upon the sea. Her rays penetrated the shallow water of the reef. _

_The thin skeletons found it easy to slip of their shackles. They made to walk underwater. However, after so long in the bottom of a ship, it was difficult to learn to walk again. So three stumbling skeletons, a morbid sight, sloshed through the water to the nearest deserted island. _

_Jack's luck with deserted islands did not run dry. Before long, the three were picked up by a kindly merchant ship. By the time the sun set, however, Jack, Elizabeth and William overran the ship, left the crew to its fate on an island, and set sail with the hull full of precious clothes and ivory. _

_And skeleton Jack was at the wheel of this stolen ship. There was a hole in his collarbone where a merchant had shot him mere hours before. The dark waves crashed against him and loose lines whipped his skeletal frame and the wind cut into his fleshless cheeks. And he felt nothing. And he smiled. _

_William ran the length of the ship, securing the rigging. He lifted his hands within sight of his eyes but did not flinch at his decay. The boat swayed and he stumbled, tripped by the corpse of one merchant man. Will gathered himself, and looked into the man's countenance. A bewildered expression flashed across Will's face. He had killed this man during the fray for the ship. _

_Elizabeth__ was in the hull. An oil lamp swung from its suspension on the ceiling, casting weird shadows on the piles of loot. She caressed the crimson satin and stroked the violet velvet. Slowly, she withdrew her hand. Like one awaking from a dream, __Elizabeth__ gazed with horror upon all these beautiful, stolen things. _

_"The worst part," she muttered to herself, "is that I want still more."_

_They learned to deal with the curse; they each came to terms with their lack of sensations. Although none of them, really, could satisfy their greed. They drifted on the sea, pirating to their bloody hearts content. Or discontent. With each new raid, they only wanted more. _

_Before long, they found Gibbs and Anna Maria and a motley crew of demented pirates. The plundering and pillaging continued. _

_And as they sailed across the sea, they kept half an eye open for Barbossa. Revenge can also burn bright in the heart of the cursed. Will and Elizabeth did attempt to find old William…but any efforts were futile. There is a lot of ocean in the world. _

_And Jack never aided them much in their endeavors, and Will suspected why. _

_Jack may have been immune to it; or perhaps he enjoyed it; but __Elizabeth__ and Will felt the fear they inspired among the crew. Every sly glance and hushed whisper they sensed. For this reason, they hid in the captain's cabin at night. But nothing could hide the indisputable fact that, as the other crewmembers aged, Jack, Will and Elizabeth were preserved. _

_The old ship was patched, and re-patched. The moldy wood was replaced so many times over it was not the same ship anymore. The march of the years was plain on the faces of the crew and on the ship. The Immortals were untouched. _

_One night, Anna Maria died. She lived to be relatively old, as pirates never make it many years into their profession. However, time, or fate, or God, had not forgotten her. Her coal black hair turned dirty white, her teeth decayed, and somewhere inside, her liver eroded from too many nights up drinking. She died in the captain's cabin. Jack stayed by her body. _

_That is how William found him that morning. Some putrid, thin light of dawn spilled over the plastic-features of Anna Marie. Jack gave Will a strange, ghastly look. They met eyes for a moment; and there passed a grave understanding. Will forget his words of comfort, stepped out of the cabin, and shut the door. For another night, Jack kept vigil over Anna-Maria's corpse. _

_The next day, the pirate was gone. Elizabeth and Will would not see Jack again for centuries. _


End file.
